Nicholas and the Krampus, Page 4

  “So you keep telling me.”

  He caught me in his arms and hugged me close, his mouth close to my ear. “And can your genius shed any light on our present predicament?” he breathed.

  “I’m wondering whether we’re allies…or bait.”

  9

  It may sound rather wonderful and dramatic in poetry and song, but dashing through the snow on a sleigh pulled by eight enormous reindeer is anything but wonderful. Dramatic, yes; spectacular, of course. But no one tells you that those reindeer smell!

  Nicholas and I were huddled in the back of the sleigh, behind Nick and Holle, who’d transformed back into her Frau Perchta aspect. Nick was dressed in an all-black version of the red suit we’d come to associate him with, while Frau Perchta was wearing what looked like a collection of tattered rags, which flew around her like flapping wings.

  Nicholas and I were unrecognizable, wrapped up like enormous mummies, in furs and blankets, with gloves, boots, and hats. And I was still freezing. Even my eyeballs were cold. Usually, I’d bring up my body temperature with my aura, but we were afraid that any flaring aura might alert the Krampus.

  Also, the sleigh ride was terrifying!

  I’ve ridden nathir and peist, elephants, several ill-tempered camels, and even a thunderbird, and I have never been more frightened than I was in that sleigh. At first I thought Nick was showing off, or, more likely, he was simply a bad driver unable to control the Torc Fianna. When we set off from the flat roof of a nearby warehouse, we immediately plunged three floors before the Torc Fianna’s special powers kicked in and they found traction in the thin air. We careered around Hell’s Kitchen, clipping chimney tops with the edge of the sleigh while reindeer hooves scattered tiles onto the deserted streets below. We flew dangerously low, weaving between buildings so close together that the sides scraped the edges of the sleigh, scattering a rainbow of sparks behind us.

  It was only when I caught glimpses of wide-eyed children watching us from bedroom windows, or stunned adults on the streets below dodging falling slates, that I realized Nick was doing this deliberately. He wanted to be seen. It was Christmas Eve, and he wanted people to know that Father Christmas was abroad. Perhaps, as Frau Perchta had suggested, he was publicity hungry, but I also saw the immediate blossoming of joy and wonder in the eyes of children and adults alike. And in that moment, I liked him just a little bit more.

  New York spread below us in a glittering dusting of light and smoke. It had snowed on and off throughout the day, giving the city an almost cardboard-cutout appearance. Cities from the air are the most magical of places—you can see their twists and curls, the sweep of roads and stretches of boulevards. London is a scattered mystery from the air; the black line of the Seine cuts through Paris, emphasizing the straight lines of the boulevards and the confusion of narrow side streets; Rome is a wonderful jigsaw; Hong Kong is a glittering jewel. New York is different. The straight lines make it look like a child’s drawing of what a city should look like…until you get to the big rectangle of Central Park cut out of the middle, which looks like someone erased the center of the drawing.

  It was quiet now, that special Christmas Eve silence. The bars and restaurants had emptied, and the chill and snow had driven almost everyone indoors. I saw a few poor homeless souls on the streets. Most slouched along, wrapped in rags, head down, but a couple looked up and watched in wonder the sight of a sleigh pulled by reindeer flying over the rooftops. I hoped the image would remind them that there was magic in the world and that if Santa was real—and reindeer really could fly—then everything was possible.

  We rose through thick, wintry clouds made bitter from the smoke of countless fires, and then, suddenly, we were above them, and a light from the half-moon thickened the clouds to a brilliant silver carpet. Water droplets became silver beads for a single moment, before Nick dipped us back into the snow-filled clouds again. When we burst out, we were over Jersey City, with Ellis Island directly ahead of us and Liberty rising on her plinth on the island beyond.

  Nick took us low over the red roofs of Ellis Island, which was still a prisoner of war camp and hospital. As we neared Bedloe’s Island, we dropped even lower, until the Torc Fianna’s hooves were actually splashing across the surface of the waves. Lady Liberty was ahead to our left, standing tall on her eleven-pointed base. Nicholas had been friends with Bartholdi, who had designed the statue and whom I’d never liked, and the interior metal frame had been created by Gustav Eiffel, whom I’d liked and Nicholas hadn’t.

  Almost as if he knew I was thinking about him, my husband leaned closer. “When this is all through, we will take the ferry over and climb to the top. There is supposed to be an incredible view from the windows in the crown.”

  “We still haven’t climbed the Eiffel Tower,” I reminded him.

  “We should make a list,” he muttered.

  And then the sleigh swooped in and the runners scraped loudly on the hard pavement an instant before the clattering rattle of thirty-two hooves struck sparks from the ground.

  Nick swiveled around, cheeks bright red with the bitter air, and grinned. “Just in time,” he said. “Happy Christmas!”

  Over the icy waters of the bay, we heard the bells of New York ring in Christmas Day.

  Tuesday, 25 December 1945

  Christmas Day

  10

  When the bells faded away, everything fell unnaturally silent; even the lapping of the waves sounded muted and distant. Although it had snowed over the city, none of it had stuck here, and the rocks radiated a bone-freezing chill.

  Nick hopped out of the sleigh and extended a hand to help me alight. He was grinning from ear to ear.

  “You seem pleased for someone about to meet the Krampus,” I remarked.

  “Hard to feel down on Christmas Day,” he said. “Besides, I have the famous Alchemyst, Nicholas Flamel, and the legendary Sorceress, Perenelle Delamere, with me.”

  “What about me?” Frau Perchta demanded in her little-girl voice. “I am not an immortal human, but I am an Elder, older than most civilizations.”

  “And I am grateful to have you here,” Nick said hastily. “Between the four of us, we should be able to defeat the Krampus and save this country from horror.”

  Frau Perchta grimaced and then slipped away into the night, ragged clothes swirling around her. “I will check around the other side of the statue. The bells should have awakened the Krampus.”

  Nicholas helped me out of most of the heavy, confining clothing. I kept the hat but had to lose the gloves. I’ve never been able to properly work a hand spell wearing gloves.

  Half of the Torc Fianna morphed back into their human form. The four women were now wearing leather and chain-mail armor, and from the big sack on the back of the sleigh they pulled out an impossible number of swords, spears, bows, and crossbows. Without saying a word, they split into four teams of one woman and one deer and disappeared into the night, leaving Nick, Nicholas, and me alone at the sleigh.

  “This is not how I intended to spend my Christmas Eve,” I said, blowing into my cupped hands.

  “Nor I,” Nick said. “I have visits to make.”

  “Well, we’ll try to defeat the monsters and get you on your way as quickly as possible,” Nicholas said sarcastically. “A plan might be useful,” he added.

  Nick turned to look at Lady Liberty. “Frau Perchta tells me that the Krampus started moving across Europe a couple of days ago, jumping from leygate to leygate, from the Black Forest to Rennes-le-Château, on to Carnac, through Stonehenge into Newgrange, then across to Mystery Hill in New Hampshire. We believe he arrived in New York yesterday or Sunday. Liberty’s plinth was built on the ruins of Fort Wood, and there is a warren of disused tunnels below. He’s somewhere down there, close to the leygate.”

  “Might be better to tackle him in the tunnels than allow him up onto open ground,” Nicholas sa
id.

  “I did suggest that to Frau Perchta. She reminded me that the Krampus is a creature of tunnels and caves. He can see in total darkness.”

  “In the tunnels his size will be a disadvantage, though,” Nicholas said. “We’d be able to control him.” He glanced at me, and I nodded. Something did not add up.

  “Agreed,” Nick said, peeling off his gloves and shoving them in his pockets. “I had the same thought.”

  “And what did Frau Perchta say?” I asked.

  “She said that we would only be able to come at the Krampus one at a time. Whereas out here, in the open, we can tackle him from all sides.”

  “And what about the Turon?” Nicholas asked. “Are they with him?”

  “We’re not sure yet.”

  “I think I would rather fight one Krampus in a tunnel than a Krampus and eight bull-men in the open,” Nicholas said.

  “We lose the advantage of the Torc Fianna in the tunnel,” Nick said.

  “And I am guessing Frau Perchta told you this?” I said.

  Nick looked at me curiously. “She did.”

  I looked over at my husband and, even in the dim light, saw him nod.

  Nick looked at each of us in turn. “What’s wrong?”

  “Run or fight?” Nicholas asked me.

  “I’m chilled through to my bones, I’m feeling nauseous from the sleigh ride, and the caffeine in the hot chocolate has given me a headache,” I said. “We stand and fight. If the Krampus has jumped through a dozen leygates in the past few days, maybe he’ll still be confused and disorientated.”

  “And we might just have the advantage of surprise,” Nicholas said.

  Nick was looking hopelessly confused. “What’s wrong?”

  “Frau Perchta has betrayed you. You haven’t come here to kill the Krampus,” Nicholas said.

  “You’ve been lured here so the Krampus and Frau Perchta can kill you,” I said.

  11

  “Call the Torc Fianna back,” Nicholas said. “We’ll fight here.”

  “No.” I pointed toward the plinth. “Over there, on the other side of the plinth. This way.” I wanted to put the bulk of the statue and the plinth between us and the city so that whatever happened would be invisible from New York. “Meet us on the east side of the statue.”

  “I’ve no idea where east is,” Nick said. “The Torc Fianna navigate; I just hold the reins.”

  “East is the direction the statue is facing,” I told him.

  Nick darted off to find the Torc Fianna.

  “We’ll get our backs against a wall,” I said to Nicholas. “Liberty is built on a plinth in the shape of an eleven-pointed star.”

  “A hendecagram.”

  “Show-off.”

  Nicholas grinned. “I was always better at math than you.”

  “And yet you still manage to get your formulas wrong. How many laboratories have you burned down?”

  “I get confused between grams and ounces.”

  We turned a sharp-edged corner and stopped. The hendecagram shape meant that a long wall and a short one sloped inward to a point. “There.” I pointed to a black metal door set into the wall.

  Nicholas hurried after me. “You’re sure Frau Perchta is behind this plot?” he asked.

  “Something she said earlier stuck with me. Do you recall when she was talking about flying in her own sleigh…”

  “Pulled by eight reindeer.”

  “No, not deer,” I reminded him. “She said they were Perchten.”

  “I assumed Perchten were deer.”

  Digging into my pocket, I lifted out the small snow globe showing the image of the Krampus. From a second pocket, I lifted out a second globe. It showed a crude wooden sleigh sailing over what had once been a postcard-pretty village. Now every second building was on fire. I held my hand steady and allowed the flakes of artificial snow to fall. “What do you see?”

  Nicholas leaned forward to squint at the tiny sleigh. “Frau Perchta,” he said. And then he stopped. “Those are not deer pulling her sleigh.” He took the first globe from my hand and held it up to compare the two. “The Perchten are astonishingly similar to the Krampus.”

  “Same tribe,” I answered. “Now look at the Krampus again. Notice anything odd?”

  Nicholas smiled at me. “You mean aside from the whole goat-monster oddness in general?”

  “His foot,” I said.

  He tilted the snow globe again, squinting in the half-light. “Oh. He has one cloven hoof…and one human foot.”

  “And Frau Perchta, or Holle, or Berchta, or whatever name she chooses, has one human foot and one swan’s leg.”

  “Coincidence?” Nicholas suggested. “A lot of the Elders have animal aspects to them.”

  “You know we don’t believe in coincidences.”

  We both stopped, nostrils flaring. The salty, slightly sour air was fouled by something bestial. It was similar to the deer musk I’d smelled earlier, but this was stronger, so much more powerful. “Like a cowshed on a farm,” Nicholas murmured.

  “A very dirty cowshed,” I said.

  12

  Led by Nick, the Torc Fianna appeared first.

  They were all bloodied and battered, with two of the women leaning heavily against those still in their deer aspect.

  “Ambushed,” Nick snapped. “They didn’t get a close look at what attacked them.” He helped one of the women sit back against the stone wall. There was a long gash across her forehead, and she was flickering between her human and deer forms. Nick tore the furry end off of his sleeve and rubbed her face. “Take on your true aspect, rest, recover.”

  “We are bound to protect you…,” she muttered.

  “And you cannot protect me if you are dead,” he said gently. “Rest now. Heal yourself.”

  The woman closed her eyes, and immediately the transformation shivered her back into her deer form. The beast tucked into a protective curl and closed her eyes.

  The leader of the Torc Fianna limped over. This was the hatchet-faced woman I’d encountered on the street only a few hours earlier. It seemed like a lifetime. “We were setting up around the entrance to the underground when thick black smoke poured out and enveloped us. It smelled of burned wood and tar, and sickened us. That’s when they attacked.”

  “And you didn’t see any of them?”

  “They fought like cowards, striking from behind,” she said bitterly. “They stank of goat and bull, rotting meat and things long dead.” She shook her head. “We have failed you.”

  Nick rested his hand on her arm. “You have not. We have been betrayed by Frau Perchta.”

  The Torc Fianna’s eyes widened. “I warned you about her.”

  “You did. I should have listened to you.”

  “What did you not like about Frau Perchta?” Nicholas asked.

  The Torc Fianna leader shook her head. “We’ve encountered Frau Perchta over the centuries, but only in passing. She specializes in punishment, whereas Saint Nicholas chooses to reward. About a century ago, she started appearing more and more regularly. Then she suggested she and Nicholas should join forces, remind people about the old ways.”

  “You told me not to trust her,” Nick said.

  “Before my mistress Saule put us in your service, I had ridden with her for a millennia. I knew she distrusted Frau Perchta, whom we called Berchta. She belonged to those Elders who believe that humani are little better than a snack, to be enjoyed raw or lightly toasted.”

  Nick sighed. “I like to see the best in people.”

  “How many of you can still fight?” I asked.

  The Torc Fianna leader looked around. Four of them had returned to their deer forms and slept off their injuries. “Four,” she said.

  The farmyard stench grew stronger, and I felt my already deli
cate stomach lurch. A thick black fog swirled around the edge of the wall and billowed toward us. Shaking my fingers loose, I allowed a little of my ice-white aura to gather in the palm of my hand. Rolling it into a ball, I tossed it at the black fog.

  The smoking white ball touched the black cloud, turning it solid. It fell to the ground, shattering into what looked like black soot.

  “They’re coming,” Nicholas said.

  “They’re here,” the sharp-faced woman said.

  The four Torc Fianna in their human form took up positions before us, spears and bows ready. They would not be taken so easily this time.

  I stood to the right of my husband, and we pushed Nick behind us so that his back was against the metal door.

  Frau Perchta appeared first, ragged clothing billowing around her like flapping bat’s wings.

  She rounded the corner to my left, followed by eight of the ugliest goatlike creatures I have ever seen: the Perchten. These were no were-creatures, I realized. There is a certain natural beauty to the were, both in their human and animal forms; they have a grace and dignity. But not these creatures: shaggy, matted fur clung in patches to diseased-looking flesh. They were all horned, though some of the horns were chipped and broken, and their jaws hung slack. Armed with axes and hook-topped spears, they spread out in a line on either side of Frau Perchta.

  “Are they dead?” Nicholas muttered. “Dead and reanimated?”

  “Constructed creatures, I think. Abominations. Made, not born.”

  Foul air swirled and the earth trembled, and then the monster appeared around the side of the wall.

  The Krampus was huge. Covered in filthy black fur, it towered ten or twelve feet tall, with two enormous horns adding to its height. The long goat’s face was traced with the white lines of old scars; its eyes pulsed red and black in a slow rhythm, and a long black tongue lolled out of its mouth. While its right front leg ended in a cloven hoof, its left was a misshapen human foot. As it moved, it clattered and clanged, and I realized that human bones were woven into its unkempt fur. Wrapped around its waist was a long, thick chain, which dragged on the ground behind it.